


Shush

by Stitch__Mistress



Category: Death Note (Anime & Manga)
Genre: Alive L (Death Note), Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst and Feels, Case Fic, Confused Light, L Has A Son, L Needs a Hug, L is a Good Dad, Mature Rating to Be Safe, Multi, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Possibly Pre-Slash, Rape/Non-con Elements, Some Humor, Time Skips, confused author, haven't decided yet
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-05
Updated: 2018-03-09
Packaged: 2019-03-27 06:02:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,242
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13874688
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Stitch__Mistress/pseuds/Stitch__Mistress
Summary: Several year after the infamous Kira Case, L has pursued an assailant known as the London Strangler whose only MO is a single piece of cord used to asphyxiate his victims and the only pattern emerging is between the color of the cord and the victims eyes. The investigation takes a deadly turn and an old rival is called in to assist with the case.Unknown to Light Yagami, now premiere investigator for Japan's Homicide Division, this will be much more difficult than finding a murderer, he has to find a missing person and that person just might be the son of the world's greatest detective.L and Light will reunite to bring down this elusive serial killer once and for all but, as the clock ticks away, it may be far too late for the one person L values the most.





	1. Prologue: A Hush

**Author's Note:**

> Hello everyone!  
> This is the prologue so not much is going to be introduced other than setting and situation. Dramatic timeline jump is necessary for the next chapter. Also, this is Post-Kira and I apologize for an OOC L if it occurs. I've never written for him so please forgive me. Due to L surviving Kira and having a child I've decided this falls under an AU label. 
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not own Death Note or any of its characters excluding my own that are necessary for the plot of this fiction to continue.

There had been no previous warning and no specific MO which would or could indicate the next victim to fall at the hands of the _London Strangler_. All the deceased attributed to the serial killer varied in gender, height, hair color and ethnic background. The only thing which stayed the same was location. 

All victims were strangled with a standard cable chord comprised of Alcryn and the only problem is this was a common melt-processable rubber. Unlike vulcanized rubber alcryn processes with the ease of a plastic therefore saving companies a tremendous sum of money. It requires no curing, pre-drying, or other time-consuming steps prior to processing, and it processes on standard plastics machinery. Therefore, it is inexpensive and not especially hard to find. No way to trace to specific buyers and no specialist retailers. 

L clicked though several of the crime scene photos, the light of the screen faintly glowing in the dark and quirked his head. Oddly enough the _Strangler_ simply had no qualms about leaving the material behind with the victims. The chord was always neatly rolled and placed carefully in the folded hand of the victim instead of being strewn across the floor or left around the neck of the body. Processing that information for a moment the man hummed in thought. Usually such an odd trademark indicated a need to be in control but of what the _Strangler_ needed to be in control of was not forthcoming. 

He was trying earnestly to profile this killer to no avail. It was just so random. 

As the great detective read through the material he noted that the color of the chord varied from victim to victim which seemed odd/significant somehow. All of his previous research had shown the spools of chord were, at minimum, 6 feet in length and certainly there was no need to toss out a whole spool of one color and jump to the next when you barely need a foot of the material to strangle someone in the first place. Four dead so far and it would be very naughty to allow more victims to pile up simply to test the emerging pattern he believed would surface within the next couple of corpses. L believed that the unique color of the chords left with the victims were intended to match the color of their eyes. He wondered if this could be how he's choosing the victims.  

But how do you determine whose eyes the killer would favor or disfavor? 

Digging through the mess on the coffee table in front of him, the absurdity of the situation was beginning to grate on his nerves. If that was all he had to go on then, well, for lack of better vernacular, the people in the detectives own back yard were royally screwed. L did take comfort that all victims ranged from their mid-thirties to early-forties. This gave him something to narrow down his profile. After all, he couldn’t see the Strangler merely selecting someone for the color of their eyes. The way they were treated made him estimate only twenty percent of the motive had something to do with that.  

Finally procuring his neglected confection which had been half obscured by the paperwork and evidence, L reclined on the leather-high back which he'd been in since early the previous morning. It was now 3am and in the span of a few hours the sounds of Wammy House would come alive. It would most likely do the detective well to relax a moment as his head spun with all the new information of the investigation. He sighed. 

-0- 

A few hours later the brunette had finished with the cake slice for some time and managed to even calm his thoughts; subsequently filing and categorizing all the evidence and information of the case reports in the vast library of his mind when a small creaking noise caught his attention. Immediately L looked to the clock on the wall and noticed that it was nearly 6 in the morning. Not unusual for the instigator of the creaking to be up at this hour. 

In a moment the detective knew that a soft patter of small feet would make its trail to the chair and that within in moments he would have an armful of a small prodigy. Despite the fact L still didn't like the touch of people in general the awaiting hug was an exception. Would always be the exception. He smiled. 

Like clockwork it started with a soft tug on his white, three-quarter sleeve, and then a small yawn. Dark eyes glanced out their corners making sure the small boy had seen that, today, L would be a bit stubborn. A smirk made its way onto the man’s face as the irritation made itself evident on the small face. Another tug, harder this time, and an accompanying glare. 

"What?" L ask aloud, hoping it sounded as though he was irritated by the child's presence. 

But the child wasn't fooled, oh no, this six-year-old knew L was wrapped around his finger. And he let him know it too as his own mouth curved into a smirk of its own. Looking at him L tried to glare but the pudgy-cheeked delinquent gained a foothold by tugging a large lock of black hair and utilizing the unbalance at the surprise to his advantage; arms were instantly locked around the detective's neck. 

Snorting at the audacity of the little one, L finally gave in and pulled him completely into his lap. Never in his life had he ever met such a loving child and living at an orphanage, he has certainly, met many. Large, dark green eyes stared back at L with an amused and victorious air. "Happy now?" A small nod had started but then briefly stopped as a more thoughtful expression appeared. Finally, those green eyes looked between the man and the empty plate on the coffee table where his cake slice once rested. 

"Oh no. No sweets in the morning. If you're hungry you can eat when all the children go down to Bossard Hall at seven." The boy huffed and then raised one black eyebrow as if to say… _Then what are you doing eating them at this hour?_  

A rapping on the door disrupted the ensuing staring contest. Wammy looked considerably older these days but despite the more recent thinning of his once thick white hair, he maintained a regality that contradicted signs of aging. 

He glanced at L for a brief moment, pausing, because the sight of him sitting legs crossed rather than tucked and a child firmly glued to the detective's front would never cease to amaze. He smiled kindly and motioned for the child to come follow. 

"Come now," said the heavy accent, Queen's English, "Let's give him time to finish his work." 

Eyes so green looked imploringly into the dark ones closest to him. "Just a little longer,' queried the sweet, small voice. 

"Unfortunately, I do have work to finish. How about you visit me at lunch instead of eating in Bossard?"  

"I can do this, Mr. Wammy?" 

The elder man chortled good naturedly. "Of course, little one." 

Reluctantly the child unwound himself and plopped softly to the floor. While skipping towards Wammy L took a moment, like so many before, to appraise the child who was well and truly his. Thick black hair and body smaller than average for other children his age, he pattered across the floor in his light-colored jams and took the old hand. One last look back with eyes not like L's own and he was out the door to get ready for breakfast and the new day. 

Sighing, L tried to immerse himself back into the current case but was already distracted thinking about his son. He was not like the detective in many ways. He was very social, enjoyed the attention of others and, indeed, was well liked by the rest of the orphanage. He was also, to L's pleasure, an incredibly affectionate boy.  

They did share that keen intelligence, however. 

That made him especially proud. He was a problem solver and at an even younger age he was able to go toe-toe with his ex-successor, Near, in a game of patterns. As a result of his own astonishment, Near placed a small puzzle ring into the boy's hand as a prize. Though it was currently too large for him to wear he did have it on a small chain around his smaller neck. 

An image of a dark green chord wrapped around that very pale neck popped its ugly self into the brunette's brain and with a shake L dislodged it. He _had_ to get this case solved.  

Something he had not experienced in years, that subtle sense of foreboding, crept into the edges of his consciousness and refused to be subdued. Unable to stand the sensation and unable to continue working just yet, L stood up and walked out the door towards the meal hall, Wammy, and small boy he code-called 'J'.


	2. Chapter 1: Stifle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Despite L's efforts the Strangler is still at large eleven years after the initial murders. He contemplates, eats coffee cake, and utilizes a crime lord.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is going to be a rather large time skip starting in this chapter. While I'm confident L would normally solve a case quickly, even he is unable to move forward without sufficient evidence. Apologies if he seems OoC but considering he is now a father, I'd say that would be pretty out of character even for canonical L. Yay AU!

 

_ ~Eleven years later~ _

L sat at the same coffee table where all this had begun. His slouch was heavier, more tired and his body leaned slightly back into the leather high-back. A vacant look filled the impossibly dark orbs of the famous detective.

It had started again.

The strangulations with the common c ord were being reported again.

On and off, on and off the killings came in short spurts and it was maddening. L tilted his head in a familiar fashion. All the evidence was now ingrained in his memory, burned into his thoughts, if it wasn’t for some break in the monotony, he would eat, briefly sleep, and breathe the London Strangler.   

However, recently, the killings had become ritualistic, more violent and now, the most maddening, was the fact DNA evidence had been produced. Yes, the serial killer had also become an excreter.  Ejaculatory fluids had been found at the last three crime scenes. No hit on the DNA owner’s identity.

He was also proved correct about the colors of cords and eyes. The  _ Strangler,  _ now confident in his inability to be identified, had taken further measures to ensure th e obvious pattern. He, and L was certain it was a 'he', painted the cord by dipping them in latex paint and used artist pigment to custom color them down to the perfect shade of iris.

L deeply considered the many ways he might use this  killer's confidence against him. 

Tilting his head to look out the window and into the bleak streets some yards away, L believed the rain completely mimicked his own thought pattern. 

_ What is it you want? Do you even want anything or do you just kill for the shit  _ _ joy of it? _

There was an idea he’d been toying with for some time but every time it came to the forefront of his mind, he would cast it away instantly. Yet  Yagami Light’s young face kept flickering in his mind. That alone was a crushing blow to L’s own ego. 

The thought that he actually might need more help with this case caused him to melt into the chair altogether. Legs splayed out  in front of him, right arm cast over the side and his left hand was resting on the studded arm of the chair, busy propping up his chin as his thin fingers played with his lips in thought. 

_ Yes, L, let's ask a former serial killer for help. Won't that just be the _ _ icing on the cake? _

But for all his dark thoughts the detective wouldn't deny, even to himself, that he would like to see the other man again.  Of course, he kept watch over him and there was always someone available to notify if things started tilting with  Yagami again but it just wasn't the same as speaking with him.

Considering his own visage for a moment, L looked no different than he had 11 years ago excluding that for once, his skin did seem to be quite a bit darker and a few strands of grey made themselves unobtrusively evident, but not unattractively so. Well according to the window reflection any way.  And... he sported a larger collection of shirts that were not just white alone. Compliments of the brat he knew he couldn’t live without.

L allowed himself a moment to think back to his own legendary case; it's entire conclusion built on lies to the media. How back then during the Kira case, he was nowhere close to considering the possibilities of father-hood and yet now, he could think of nothing else. Where he once enjoyed the complete sanctity of silence for hours alone, he now would seek the company of others. A select few but more than his usual inner circle which included just he and Wammy. 

That was another thing as well. Quillish Wammy, the man who had been beside L for years, was now upstairs in a large plush bed with an unfortunate necessity: his own personal nurse. He’d suffered a myocardial infarction, the doctor had said, and it was enough to ground the lively old man. But, believe it or not when L had gone in to see him in the hospital, though Wammy had looked just as every bit ill as the doctor indicated, he had a familiar spark in his eyes.

_ “You know, I’ve lived a rather full life. I’ve been able to go with you for every case that demanded your attention. However,” the raspy but warm voice said, “I couldn’t help but get a little surprised at this situation.” _

_ “And why would that be _ _?” L asked as he stood near the foot of the hospital bed. _

_ “That even though I was not on a case anywhere with you, Kira only decided to go after me now when I was about to enjoy the most succulent lambs’ leg dish.” _

_ The deadpan look of the detective gave  _ _ W _ _ ammy _ _ all the incentive he needed to laugh at the younger man which, though somewhat weak, was infectious enough to get a rare but genuine smile from said detective. _

Sighing L kept his eyes out the window. The very thought of  the inventor being too ill to do what he would usually enjoy was rather depressing. A flicker of  an image caught the  detective's attention. A  reflection in the window. Without giving any indication of noticing he looked at the figure standing in the doorway somewhere behind him and immediately warmth settled into his stiff bones . 

The figure closed the door and kept their hands behind their back as they walked further in the room.  _ So _ _ quiet _ , L thought .  Apparently, J thought he might be too busy to be disturbed. He watched as the figure began to place something on the edge of the coffee table. A small bag that was neatly creased and handles tied in some small twine. 

“What’s that?” L asked softly causing J to look up, green eyes sparkling with  mirth .

L relished the fact that J hid his surprise at being spoken to so well. There was only one other person that he could think of who could act that well and he was half the world away.

The smirk on his son’s face was enough to confirm this and that he knew L wasn’t fooled. 

“I brought you a treat from the States. But if you’re going sit there and be all glum, I’ll take them back  up stairs .” J chortled when L whipped around to examine the small bag.

Taking the item, he motioned for the boy to sit. As he did, the bag opened to fill the whole room with the smell of coffee cakes. L happily tucked into the small confections only to speak between bites.

“How was your trip?”

“Well, enough. Maine is rather cold this time of year for obvious reasons. Otherwise, boring .  Why Near chose that place I will never know.” J replied smoothly.

L nodded. "And your case?"

The teen shrugged and the man detected a slight tense in posture. 

"Another crooked copper. Not sure why I remain surprised  any more ," came the sullen reply. And in a mirror of L earlier, he too, melted into the chair he was in.

The light from the fireplace danced across the young teen as though wreathed in flames. As L nibbled away at his treat he contemplated the boy's statement. T hey had spoken at length about such cases in the past where the culprit was supposed to be one upholding the law.

J simply didn't understand it and had voiced the concern to his father many years prior. How can we, as a civilization, trust the law when the very ones who are needed to enforce it are every bit as terrible as crime itself? Answering honestly the detective, looking into such large, green orbs stated that trusting one's self is the best way to combat such delusions.

_"But da? What if we're the ones_ _delusional? What if our_ _perceptions are just a skewed as theirs?" The then_ _ten-year-old_ _curled his fingers stressfully in his hair. "Criminals and twisted coppers believe just as much in their own truths as we do and as such, their truths, their delusions are no different from ours."_

The night of that conversation was exhausting to say the least. Sheer stress at the idea that J might not be any different from the horrible police officer L had had apprehended early in the day was so great the boy whirled himself into an  existential crisis. 

When  Wammy had come in the following morning to  retrieve J L had waved the inventor away. Lines of concern in the aging face eyed the child, then, _ finally _ , asleep in his father's arms. Obvious tear stains trailing puffy cheeks flushed with the emotions of the night. 

_ Yes,  _ L thought as he considered the teen before him,  _ you still hold onto those questions _ _ today. Even after all this time. _

L shifted.

There was nothing he could do to  assuage such wonderings at the moment. Especially considering the case he was currently neck deep in.

“When did you get back?” Another coffee cake was gone and he decided to change the subject .

“About two hours ago and that was before I was able to walk into the building. The traffic is terrible due to the rain. I counted at least five collisions on my way home. I almost feared I’d be one of them with the way Matt drives. I walked in the door about half an hour ago.”

L decided he'd have to threaten Matt somehow.

Leaning forward the boy studied  the material on the coffee table in front of L and sighed.

“Started killing again, eh?”

The detective scrapped his last coffee cake, curled his legs beneath him and studied the paperwork on the table as well.

* * *

 

Two hours later in a very dark room Matt was frantically trying to clear a suspicious bug out of his systems. Every screen he tried to access kept displaying horrific images of fried computer drives, tore-to-shit red  Chevelle's , and women doing  _ unholy _ things to game console controllers. The volume of their "activities" had the red-head so flustered that by the time he actually solved the problem he believed that his blush would be a permanent scar. 

* * *

“I see. Yes, alright…was there anything else in the file?  _ Sigh  _ Very well, thanks for your time.” L closed the phone and placed it on the  table , well placed would be stretching the truth a little as it nearly fell off the edge after being harshly tossed. The polite manner in which he spoke did nothing to show exactly how f rustrated he truly was.

It was truly beyond him how any crime could be solved by Scotland Yard when all they could pull together as evidence was actually  routine at this point . 

_ I have solved many more difficult cases and yet this one escapes even London’s finest.  _ _ But then again... I'm supposed to be THE finest and here we are.  _ _ Maybe it would be astute to call the  _ _ S _ _ trangler over to tea and just inquire of him. _

L's eyebrows rose into his hairline as the phone buzzed softly on the table after his mental rambling.  His only acknowledgment of irony a barely visible nod of the head as he picked up the device and placed it to his ear.

“Yes.”

“Are you near your computer?” Mello’s voice questioned.

“Yes.” 

“Good. Look, there’s been another body discovered on Delancey Street. I’ve sent you the photos that I was able to lift from one of the officers on scene.”

Immediately L was at his computer typing mechanically and pulling up the pictures. The first pictures were of the place where the victim was discovered. Behind Camden’s Coffee Shop in a small alcove, there was evidence of some sort of struggle. Trash receptacles had  be en knocked askew and all manner of discarded crates were perched precariously to suggest a feebly attempt at hiding the gruesome truth.

The 0045jpeg was the starting line reserved for the actual homicide victim. The victim was a woman, blonde with a pixie-like hairstyle and a form fitting red dress. The dress was hitched up just above the knee with legs akimbo. No shoes, L raised a nearly translucent eyebrow at that piece of information. 

Clicking through the other photos and digesting the evidence religiously through onyx eyes, he looked for the slightest difference in…anything.

“ Was there any sign  of assault? ” 

"It seems so but you'll be waiting for the official  coroner's report."

"That will take days, Mello."

" Ain't you working with the police?"

"Aren’t you working  _ against _ the police?"

"…"

"I'm waiting."

"L?"

"Yes?"

"Fuck the police."

L's sigh must have been quite hilarious to Mello through the voice changer since all he could hear was laughter. The  man barely restrained himself from pinching the bridge of his nose.

"Where are the victims shoes?"

Among soft chuckles the words, 'I don't know,' became apparent.

"However,' Mello continued, 'I have put feelers  throughout the city. I can tell you honestly that no one in the underworld has confessed to outright being the  _ Strangler _ despite a few hints."

_ Well that's not good. _

A feeling of unease was starting again. "You have eyes in the government."

"You think someone higher up is responsible?"

"Possibly."

A whistle rang over the phone followed by muffled Russian between two or three people.

"Okay,' Mello said, 'it will take some time to get any substantial reports but it will get done."

" Yipee .  Finally, some help,' L monotoned.

Mello b urst into laughter.

“Now wait old man before you bitch. You're the one who has excluded all but the police themselves from joining your little soiree of gloom. Might I remind you of a nice, shiny accessory in your house?  The brats very perceptive,” a loud snap over the phone registered to L as the breaking of chocolate, “hell knows he’s got more observation skills than the rest of us.”

The detective closed his phone and considered the Blondes’ words.  Again , he ran through the photos once, twice, three times and more. H eaven help him but he did not want to get J involved, not really.  However, Mello did have a point.

The brunette shook his head. "Paranoid. I'm getting parentally paranoid. It's finally happened."

He would call the Yard again to see if they had taken the shoes into evidence without photographing them  before hand . It was a possibility, no one was perfect, yet L  needed confirmation .  If the shoes were in fact missing altogether than that meant one more escalation: trophies.

Sighing L  stood, his hips popping as he did so with only a faint grimace to show displeasure. He  stopped in front of the mahogany dresser on the way  out and  studied his image in the mirror atop . For once he could admit to himself that he looked a trifle tired. His shoulders were hunkered, weighed down by the many sleepless nights. His dark eyes seemed that much darker along with the bags beneath them in an unconscious attempt to resemble a raccoon, bemused he consider the lack of fuzzy ears and a striped fluffed tail.

"I truly have lost it."

Eyes roaming down his body and back up to his face, L huffed and ran a dainty hand through the obscure mass of hair with a sigh. It wasn’t too long ago, it seemed, he was as lively and energetic as any young man. Now, however, his age was likely to be deduced without any remorse by the children who lived at  W ammy’s .

Turning a little to the side he glanced and stood straight for a profile view. There was attractiveness in the way he stood now, a slight air of regality. Up to his full height, one could see the ripple of soft muscle beneath his simple garments of baggy faded blue-jeans and trade-mark white, 3 quarter-sleeve. Yet he couldn’t fool even himself with what lay in his eyes. No, L sighed once more, he was no longer a young man.

_No one else has to know that though_ _,_ L smirked. If anything, he was a master at deception and currently the only ones he would deceive were the kids. Not like the _Strangler_ knew L had ever touched his case in the first place.

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: I hope you enjoyed the short prologue. They are always short but my chapters are decent length. Please R&R constructively with questions or even suggestions. I enjoy help with grammar and words I may not have noticed. This was originally post on FF.net but I have since rewritten the chapters and added the many that were never posted because I like to live dangerously. So, if it sounds familiar it probably is.


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